


Dreadful Need in the Devotee

by thattrainssailed



Series: Words Hung Above, But Never Would Form [11]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Angst, Coda, Episode: s03e19 Aku Cinta Kamu, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 12:42:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18571732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thattrainssailed/pseuds/thattrainssailed
Summary: It is something of a miracle that Alec has even found a moment to himself. Although, as the silence stagnates around him, he begins to wonder if that is such a good thing. It’s the first time in days that he allows his thoughts to wander. Of course, they immediately drift to Magnus.He’s already heard a whisper. A rumour that managed to worm its way into the Institute. A sighting of Asmodeus. Magnus Bane wandering New York. Blue embers at his fingers.The news aches inside Alec. He tries to feel relief.Grief creeps up his spine. He moves forward, deeper into the library. He hopes it will not chase him.





	Dreadful Need in the Devotee

The Institute library has always been a place of calm. Volumes upon volumes hug the shelves, cocooning the shadowhunters amongst pages. Ink bleeds into the air, mixing with dust and settling into lungs. Things whisper in corners in lost languages. The moment Alec enters the space, he feels it wash over him.

In a world that has utterly shattered within the space of a few days, there is so much comfort in the familiarity of this place.

The room is empty aside from him. The rest of the Institute is running around, attempting damage control after Jace’s disastrous mission. Jace himself is currently in the infirmary, coming down from his Seelie high. Izzy and Simon are scrambling to find the mission vial of Glorious; Underhill is triple-checking security measures for the second time that month; the Clave is bouncing rapidly between cold apathy and burning judgment. It is something of a miracle that Alec has even found a moment to himself. Although, as the silence stagnates around him, he begins to wonder if that is such a good thing. It’s the first time in days that he allows his thoughts to wander. Of course, they immediately drift to Magnus.

He’s already heard a whisper. A rumour that managed to worm its way into the Institute. A sighting of Asmodeus. Magnus Bane wandering New York. Blue embers at his fingers.

The news aches inside Alec. He tries to feel relief.

Grief creeps up his spine. He moves forward, deeper into the library. He hopes it will not chase him.

He tries to pay attention to the library instead. Fill his brain with pages and dust. Anything besides Magnus.

It works for a while. He pays attention to the room, to the details that have long made their home in his memory, such that he rarely even notices them any more. He breathes in the page-thick air; runs his fingers over worn spines and dust jackets; lets his steps weigh heavier on the floorboards that he knows are prone to creaking. He leans into his senses. Tries to lose himself to the room.

His fingers run over a thick, smooth spine. He pauses.

It’s a book he knows well. All shadowhunters do, of course. As children of angels, the Bible is fundamental to their early education. Alec in particular, as the eldest Lightwood, the restorer of legacy, was made to study verse after verse every day for years. While the nephilim do not take that book as, well, gospel, they recognise the importance of its mythology to their race.

Alec is pulling it from its place before he realises what his hands are doing.

The book weighs familiar against his palms. The thin pages fall easily one after another. His eyes flick over words, verses, back and forth through books until they settle, leaving two pages of tiny text gazing up at Alec.

He watches the words without reading. He already knows their sequence and tale.

Genesis 19. Sodom and Gomorrah. The fall of the city, the deaths of thousands. A cleansing. His eyes follow the long-remembered lines and he recalls Lot and his family fleeing, sole recipients of mercy. They run for their lives as their home collapses behind them.

Alec thinks of Lot’s wife.

She is minor in the context of a story. Barely two sentences dedicated to her existence. Yet she is remembered, famous, far more so than the members of her family that survived the destruction. She could not help but blanch as her home was destroyed. She stopped and looked back and for that she was punished. The pillar of salt remains a symbol of misplaced sympathy. A lesson in detachment.

Alec thinks of crumbling cities. Of stolen homes and the death of comfort. Of desperation and loneliness, dreadful need to confirm the destruction. Of loss. He thinks of Magnus.

It’s strange, how tantalising grief is. He could easily slip from his role, shirk his responsibilities and crawl into his bed. Annoyance from his peers would be diluted by reluctant understanding of the break-up. He could leave himself to silence and search his memories, run through them until they leaked from his eyes and trail down his cheeks. It would be so easy to lean into it and let it take over.

Alec’s tears could turn him to salt.

He imagines a woman running from fire. Stopping abruptly, forever, when she grasps at sorrow.

The story is intended to educate, and Alec is nothing if not a fast learner.

The book fits easily back into its place, the dust undisturbed as though he had never been there. He takes far less care retracing his steps to the library’s entrance. Dust drifts, boards cry, books watch. He ignores them. When he reaches the doorway, he pauses.

He thinks of blue embers.

Alec does not look back.

His pace is a desperate plea against calcification.

**Author's Note:**

> Back on my bullshit of Alec and religion.
> 
> Title from Talk by Hozier
> 
> Yell at me on [tumblr](https://thattrainssailed.tumblr.com/).


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